


Eastside

by fckyeahgallavich



Series: Requests/Prompts [18]
Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Kiss, First Love, Friends to Lovers, Holding Hands, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, No Smut, POV First Person, POV Mickey Milkovich, References to Canon, Song: Eastside, Songfic, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: PROMPT: I love ur requests/prompts collection and I was wondering if you could do one inspired by a song? I just really love the songs Eastside by Benny blanco. Every time I hear it I think of Gallavich & them falling in love in a slight AU-style fic.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Requests/Prompts [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/878244
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	1. When I was young, I fell in love

**Author's Note:**

> I was initially planning on this being a one-shot but it just felt too perfect for Mickey's birthday to not post today.  
> Happy birthday Mickey! :3

**When I was young, I fell in love**

We’d grown up together in many senses of the word. He lived only two blocks across the way in the infamous blue house with the neighborhood nuisance and swindler for a father, and I was raised in the sun-bleached red brick house that seemed to have a permanent red and blue light cast on it from the number of cop cars that frequented the place. We played on the same community baseball team and he’d made me laugh at least once a practice or game before I was booted for takin’ a piss on the field (I was _seven_ and needed to go! What’d they expect me to fuckin’ do?). 

He also used to walk past my house a lot to see me sitting on the porch alone — he didn’t know until much later that I did that to escape Dad’s loudness, especially when he was stressed from a huge drop or really drunk while celebrating a successful one. But one day when I was ten Dad was being especially hard to handle and I walked… I didn’t even realize to where I had wandered until I was standing in front of the gate to that infamous blue house… Redhead boy sitting there by himself on the porch, like me.

I didn’t enter the gate at first, we just kind of stared at each other… clearly both sad but not really knowing what to do for it, or for each other. So I wandered on.

Eventually I started wandering over to his house more than he walked past mine, and I always found him sitting on his porch, legs drawn to his chest like me. I was the first one to approach a month or so later, bottom lip trapped beneath the sharp edges of my teeth. Opening the gate cautiously, I made my way up the short walkway, shoes scuffing on the pavement. His eyes widened just a smidgen; I only noticed because of the number of times I’d stared intently at those eyes, for so long and so many times that I’d memorized them. I took the three steps and said nothing as I sat beside him. And he said nothing as he _let_ me sit beside him. Not for a long time, at least. We just kind of wanted someone to sit with and understand what it’s like to just want to sit with someone but not say anything; to not be intimidated by that silence or fearful of it, but to embrace it as something that just _is,_ and as something that can be shared in comfort.

I think he watched the leaves fall like I did; and then the snowflakes drift and float and swirl; and then by spring we moved past the silence and made verbal observations to each other about pollen and buds of flowers. By that time we'd even confided some things in each other when we knew we were truly alone, no sisters or brothers to come busting out of the house unexpectedly. Though, his sister did sometimes catch us sitting there. The first time she did, I was so freaked that I leaped up and ran home. I wouldn’t know why I reacted like that until much later. The next day on the bus to school he had sat next to me for the first time.

“Why did you run away?” he’d asked. I’d shrugged because I really didn’t know. “Well, you don’t have to. You could… well, you could even stay for dinner if you wanted. And we don't have to stick to the porch all the time, we can hang out on the roof if you want. It’s really cool up there. Or there's my room, or the back yard...” Though he was gushing and rambling, he said it calmly and quietly, keeping his voice down and tone low as though he knew that I wanted this to be a secret. Maybe he already knew why I wanted it that way… He was always good at picking up on small details like that, even before I noticed them about myself.

I’d pulled my knees up to rest against the back of the seat in front of me and shrugged. I could hear rather than see the redhead’s broad grin… He had my number from the start, he just got me like that.

**We used to hold hands, man, that was enough (yeah)**

I did start staying for dinner, and his sister was really nice to me in spite of who my father is. And we did start climbing up to the roof instead of sticking to the porch — and it was a good thing too because Dad started looking for me after school (well, not _him_ but he sent my brothers and cousins) because he wanted me to start learning the family trade.

I didn’t.

Visiting with the Gallaghers, I saw a fuck-ton of dysfunction, yeah. But I also saw a family that actually gives a shit about one another, and not just for what you contribute to the family but just… because you care. 

Ian insisted we do homework together on that rooftop and most days we did. I was much better with numbers than he was and he saw something in words that I just couldn’t so we made pretty solid study partners. 

For about two years we were able to hide away up there. But finally my dad caught on… So the number of times a week I could sneak away went from every day, to five days a week, to three.

Ian thought I was mad at him, he even told me that Fiona asked where I’d gone off to, that the rest of the family missed me too. This surprised me because it wasn’t like I said much around the rest of them. I wasn’t a dick or anything but I wasn’t “open” by any means. I saved that for Ian. 

I promised him he was the last person I could ever see myself bein’ mad at. He’d blushed. And… I liked that look on him.

That’s when Gallagher started getting ballsy. 

I guess he needed to know that I wasn’t full of shit. He’d taken to sitting next to me on the bus every day and normally he’d stick to his half of the seat, I’d stick to mine. Some mornings we’d talk, others we’d catch up on sleep or just sit in comfortable silence. Soon after I made him that promise, that I could never be mad at him, he placed his hand on the small space of seat between our thighs, palm up. I narrowed my eyes at it and I think he noticed because then he nudged my thigh with his thumb, flexing his other fingers to emphasize the open spaces for mine to fit in.

I hugged my backpack closer to my chest and rubbed at my nose to release some of the pent-up uncomfortable energy swimming in my stomach. I could practically feel the redhead’s smirk beside me, we knew each other like that. Didn’t even need to look at each other to know what expression we were making.

And he started doing that every day. I didn’t really understand what the appeal was in hand holding until two weeks later when I boarded the bus biting my lip so hard it nearly bled and clenching my hands into fists because I was ready to run away since I couldn't fight like I wanted to. Dad wanted me to start doing the shit that he and my brothers do. That was why Dad suddenly wanted to start spending time with me, after all. To teach me how to steal, how to hide, how to dodge pigs and conceal shit so I didn’t look suspicious.

When Gallagher boarded at the next stop like always he plopped down and his hand assumed its normal position. But unlike every other day, he didn’t even have to nudge me. My fingers slid between his and clasped around the knuckles for a solid hold. My lip quivered a little with the anger from my dad’s bullshit this morning. I’d wanted to clock him… But if I had, he’d just knock my ass to the ground. I was still too little to stand up to him the way I wanted. And he knew it.

Ian’s fingers gently folded over the back of my hand and his thumb slowly ran along mine. I could feel that stroke in my chest, as though he was petting it in soothing passes with his hand. Like he was comforting me. With just his hand.

I didn’t look at him while we held hands until that too became our normal. We held hands on the bus, we held hands on the roof when we didn’t need to write. And that soft feeling in my chest never went away so long as his hand was in mine.

It was scary as fuck, feeling so much when I’d basically been raised not to feel anything… Feeling so much for a person when I’d been taught to depend on myself before anyone else.

But even at the ripe ages of 12 and 13, Ian Gallagher was shouldering my burdens with me — as much as I would allow him. And even though hand-holding didn't _solve_ any of my problems, it at least let me feel like I wasn't carrying these problems alone, like I had someone in my corner who _wanted_ to be in my corner and chose to remain there every single day he took my hand and held it until I let go.

**Then we grew up, started to touch**

Ian started pressing for even more after that. 

He was quizzing me on some stuff for science — he was a huge advocate for flash cards and the trick had grown on me so I actually made this stack myself — when he first tried it. We were on the Gallagher roof, I was laying on my back squinting at the russet sky, slightly blinded by the setting sun but not so bothered by it that I felt the need to look away. I was doing pretty well on the quizzing when he suddenly stopped calling out terms. I turned to where he had been seated at the lip of the roof and jumped when I found him seated directly beside me. He sat on his shins, socked feet tucked under his butt. It couldn’t be comfortable, but no discomfort shone through in his eyes.

“Gallagher?” I’d asked, confused by the curious and shy look in his eyes.

“You know… I really liked that CD you gave me for my birthday,” Ian murmured, putting a freckled hand on my hand resting on my stomach.

“Yeah?”

He nodded and he suddenly looked so nervous that my brows furrowed as I tried to figure out what the fuck was going on in that ginger head of his. He licked his bottom lip and his mouth opened a little, a wheezy breath sliding out.

“Ian?” I didn’t usually use his first name, but the kid was makin’ me nervous. It wasn’t common for me to struggle to read him and I didn’t like this feeling. 

“I liked it a lot, but… There’s something else I kind of wanted…” Another slow, wheezy breath and suddenly he bent forward, face gliding to mine. My eyes widened as I took in what he was doing but made no move to stop it. Before I knew it, his lips were on mine and my whole core tightened but fluttered simultaneously. My eyes stayed open the whole time, fixated on the bright constellation of freckles on his eyelids.

It was a quick kiss — his lips pressed to mine, slightly puckering, pressing back down, and lifting away.

He stared at me for a long moment, a tinge of fear, maybe even regret, crossing them as he took in my expression, which I’m sure was primarily shock. His face morphed into a look of humiliation, fear, and sadness, and he looked away from me as he tried to scramble back to where he'd sat previously. I grabbed his wrist and rolled on to my side to stop him, grabbing his attention back.

"I'm sorry," he murmured sadly. "I... I thought you'd —" I sat up on my side and he silenced himself, watching me intently as I struggled with my own breath as he had before he'd kissed me the first time. My stomach felt crowded, but not in a bad way at all. My heart felt heavy but beat fast like it was trying to reach out from my chest and grab hold of him for me. I heard a small breath rush from my throat and felt my tongue meet my bottom lip, all without my consciousness demanding it.

God, my nerves wracked viciously, taking away what little breath remained. I looked up into his eyes and saw hope chasing out that fear and embarrassment.

This wasn't right... Boys aren't meant to kiss boys. But... then again, boys aren't supposed to like holding other boy's hands... or lay their heads in other boy's laps while they told stories or studied... or stare at their lips as much as, if not more than, their face as a whole...

My breath rushed out of my lungs as our lips met again because this time I kissed him back. And it was... just like our hands when they folded together, it was like matching puzzle pieces, _snapping_ together. I pulled away quickly, but not so far that his kiss didn't linger. Our foreheads pressed together, my nose in perfect line with his, the tip brushing his cheek, our top lips sometimes bumped as we just breathed through the pleasant heaviness. 

I swallowed hard and exhaled sharply as my brain whirred with what just happened. Not only did he kiss me... but I kissed him _again_ and kissed him _back._ And... I liked it. My throat swelled and my eyes stung because everything was telling me this was _right_ except that nagging thing in the back of my mind that said this was wrong. I realized after a moment that my head was shaking against his as though saying 'no.'

"Mick?" He whispered. I huffed out a harsh breath and pulled away, wrapping my arms around my raised knees, bringing them to my chest and looking in his general direction though not directly at him.

"This is wrong," I muttered morosely. Ian scooted back so he aligned his face with my line of vision.

"Why do you say that?" Ian asked. I shrugged.

"Dad said — "

"Of course it's your dad," Ian huffed angrily, not even letting me finish. I furrowed my brow. Yeah, Dad's a bastard but —

"Don't act like you know a thing about my dad," I snapped. His mouth ground into a hard line as he returned his gaze to mine, his green eyes alight with the sun setting behind me and with anger.

"I know that _this_ can't be wrong," Ian asserted. God... He was so fuckin' confident. "I... What _could_ be wrong about it?"

"Guys like girls, that's the natural order o' things."

"But isn't what's happening here natural?" Ian demanded. "You're not _forcing_ yourself to kiss me, you _wanted to, right?"_ I flinched at the reminder. Especially at the reminder that... I wanted to do it again... And again... And _again._ Ian could read that on my face as if I'd scrawled it on my forehead, the sympathy in his eyes said it. "If you don't like me as anything more than a friend, that's fine," Ian said it like a vow. "But... You have to look me in the eye and tell me, no, _promise_ me, that I'm making it up or I'm mistaken that I've seen it, that you like me too."

I couldn't lie to him. My stomach shriveled up in my core as fear raced through my veins. He scooted back again and again, dragging himself around me until he sat pretzel style in front of me, waiting for my answer.

"Just tell me you don't like me, and I'll never try to kiss you or hold your hand again. I can be just your friend, but I need to know that it's because you want it that way not because you're too afraid for it to be any other way." I wanted to shoot back that I wasn't afraid; but that would be a huge-ass lie that wouldn't sound convincing to either of us.

"If my dad finds out I swear to god he'll kill me, Ian. I mean it. I'm not exag — "

His pale, freckled hand on my wrist stopped my rant.

"It can be our secret, I promise."

And would you believe it... he pulled me in to his arms and I went easily, and sank into him as he ran a comforting hand up and down my arm.


	2. Oh no, your daddy didn't like me much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the boys are getting older, some of the harsher realities of having a father like Terry Milkovich come knocking on the door of their closeted romance. But with those challenges come life-changing decisions, for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: homophobic slurs included particularly in the second section.

**Used to kiss underneath the light on the back of the bus (yeah)**

It never escaped my notice how much Mickey opened to me more and more every day when he first started hanging out at my house. I was confused because… Well, we’d grown up practically across the street from each other but it took a decade for us to actually hang out. Who would’ve expected that within four more years from the first time he’d come to sit on my porch — especially considering how he’d bolted from the step when Fiona had stepped outside to invite him  _ in  _ for dinner — that we would be bona-fide childhood sweethearts?

Or, at least that’s how  _ I  _ saw us. I was his first kiss, after all, and he was mine. And holding hands was so natural for us that he reached for my hand sometimes even more than I reached for his. And even though it took a while for him to finally accept that kissing me wasn’t wrong, that we can’t help how we feel about each other any more than Kev and V could, he kissed me as though he was always taken aback by the experience. As though… As though he really loved it.

And I know he loved it, because Mickey Milkovich doesn’t do what he doesn’t want to.

By the time we were 14 and 15, he was kissing me ‘later’ on the bus when he wasn’t able to come over, an apology of sorts though one wasn’t necessary. I understood Mickey’s shitty home life.

And those kisses, like our ‘hello’ kisses, our ‘I just really wanted to feel your mouth on mine’ kisses, and our playful ‘you’re being a shithead and you’re fuckin’ adorable for it’ kisses while we wrestled around during our study sessions on the roof, were always filled with  _ something.  _ I never asked him if he felt that  _ something  _ too. I didn’t have to. It was all over his face when we pulled back and smiled, or even sometimes still there was this look of wonder.

**Oh no, your daddy didn't like me much**

Sometimes we got shit for being so open about our relationship — how could you not expect at least a handful of ignorant assholes in this neighborhood, right? We had some matching scars and had come home bearing similar bruises on our faces or chests from the older, bigger kids at school who felt the need to fagbash, but we always held our own. We weren’t even entirely sure how so many kids picked up on it because we didn’t wear our relationship on our sleeves at first. The hand holding on the bus was subtle enough that we felt confident that no one would pick up on it, but really the teasing started long before we were more open — and in fact, the only reason we did start to openly show off our relationship was because it didn’t matter how hard we tried to conceal it anyway, people already knew. 

Though the teasing and outright harassment never  _ really _ got better from the time it first started when we were 12 and 13, Mickey just sort of… Got used to it over the years. The first time someone called him a faggot when he was 13, though, Mickey had gone  _ wild.  _ Even seeing his temper from that time he’d tackled a kid who accidentally spat on his cleat during one of our community baseball games, I’d never seen Mickey like  _ this.  _ I’d stood by the bus, just watching in horror as he punched the kid’s face so hard and so many times that I’d known there was no way the kid could avoid a hospital visit. The  _ rage  _ and  _ hatred  _ in Mickey’s eyes had nailed me to the pavement as five of the other kid’s friends tried to pry him off. Finally, I tentatively walked forward, kneeled, and put my hand over the other kid’s face to grab Mickey’s bloodied fist before he could land another blow. Mickey had flashed his attention to me but concealed none of that hatred in his eyes, and the look had shook me to the core.

For the first time I was actually a little afraid of Mickey. Even though I knew he’d never hurt me, that display of anger and resentment and… only god knew what else, all had me nervous around him… Like one day he might redirect that aggression against me, even though I consciously knew he would never dare.

After the fight, I’d still taken his hand when he put his out on the bus or on our roof, I’d still kissed him back when he’d kissed me goodbye after a night of studying, but for a couple of weeks I was a little timid around him for the first time ever. He finally called me on it at the end of those two weeks and I’d confessed immediately to what was wrong.

“A— Afraid of me?” He actually had the nerve to sound surprised or betrayed.

“It wouldn’t have shocked me if we found out you shattered part of his jaw, Mickey,” I’d insisted. Mickey’s mouth opened and closed several times as he searched for words, his eyes actually whizzing around the sky as though thinking the right response would literally form itself in the clouds. When he finally turned his attention to his hands, still healing from the multiple slices across his knuckles from the fight, and he let out a small gasp that could almost be described as a horrified wheeze, my heart did a somersault… And  _ not  _ in a good way.

When I’d put my hand on his arm I was instantly alarmed to feel gooseflesh under my palm. The prickly flesh of a chill that I supposed came from shock but maybe also the horror he felt for himself.

“I… I don’t want you to be afraid of me…” Mickey practically whimpered. Suddenly Ian felt like  _ shit  _ for telling him. Though he knew it needed to be said, the self-loathing currently maring Mickey’s face was shredding Ian’s heart in his chest.

“I’m not… I know you’d never hurt me, but… Mick you’ve gotta admit, that was… Intense.” Mickey nodded.

“I guess you just don’t understand… If it gets back to my dad — ”

“I know, you’ve told me,” Ian sighed. Mickey shook his head insistently.

“No, you don’t get it. I’m  _ telling  _ you… Even a fucking  _ joke  _ getting back to him would have him seein’ red. That’s…” he swallowed harshly and averted his eyes from Ian’s as though he couldn’t bear to look at him.

“That’s why you react so bad… You’re scared.” Mickey huffed a resentful breath but after a long moment of shaking his head ‘no,’ he finally closed his eyes, bit his lip, and nodded. He released his lip, but from the way his jaw still clenched and shifted, Ian knew he shifted to worrying his tongue between his teeth — literally biting his tongue. 

Ian slowly raised a gentle hand to Mickey’s cheek and the muscles moving under his palm indicated the ceasing of such an action; but his teeth did turn to worrying his bottom lip instead. Ian ran a thumb under his lip then and Mickey raised his gaze to Ian’s eyes, fear absolutely  _ glowing  _ in his eyes. Ian pulled ever so gently down on the taut skin under Mickey’s captured lip and, slowly, he released his teeth from the pillowy surface.

“You can …” Ian sighed, wrestling with what he was about to say. It couldn’t be said lightly and he couldn’t just throw it out there without backing it up. But he knew that even if he had to fight for it to happen, he would ensure that he wouldn’t be made a liar. “You can move in here to be away from your dad.” Mickey’s brows furrowed and he instantly shook his head no. “Honestly! Everyone here loves you and if we told her — ”

“What?” This time Mickey looked disgusted and he backed out of Ian’s touch. Ian’s stomach plummeted to the base of his spine. “You want me to go ‘round singing my sob story for a fuckin’ bed?”

“Sob story? Mick — ”

“No. I’ll be fine so long as people keep their fuckin’ trap shut.”

“So you’re just going to beat the shit out of anyone who calls you a name that even  _ hints  _ at you being  _ what you are?” _ Mickey paused at that and visibly trembled. “What the fuck did you think this  _ was  _ Mickey? It sure as fuck ain’t  _ straight!”  _ If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say he gagged… The motion had me both hurt and so, so angry. “If you’re so disgusted by what we have going on here, then — ” He grabbed my arm and gazed imploringly into my eyes, his breath audible almost like panting with slight panic. 

“I — ” His bottom lip trembled again and he sucked it back into his mouth, clenching it into place with his teeth. This was the Mickey only I got to see. For years I’d only ever seen the hardass Mickey. The Mickey who would never cry, never be lost for words because if nothing else, a “fuck off” would always suffice for him and was always at the tip of his tongue. This Mickey, this scared, almost fragile Mickey… This was the side only Ian got to see. And as much as it struck him that this was significant, he also hated it. He hated that Mickey had  _ this  _ much fear,  _ this  _ much self-loathing and revulsion. And as much as Ian wanted to be able to will it away, love it away, he knew he couldn’t. The acceptance and self-love had to come from Mickey. All Ian could do was give him the space to find it, and be patient as he searched. “No… I…” Mickey continued to struggle. “The past year has been… ” He trailed off and my heart shattered as tears visibly raised against the bottoms of his eyes. I took his arm in my hand, tenderly placing my fingers against the seam of his shirt sleeve, just to drag his attention to me.

“Every year with you gets better and better, Mick,” I supplied, praying he would agree.

“Yes!” He whispered excitedly, emphatically even. “Yeah, I… I feel like I can fuckin’  _ breathe  _ here!” He seemed to cut himself short, though. Like there was something he desperately didn’t want to say even if it had to be said.

“But?” I prompted. He was examining his ratty shoes… the same shoes he’d been wearing for the past two years even though the front was starting to come apart because his feet were simply too big for them anymore. He swallowed so hard it was audible.

“Movin’ in with you wouldn’t fix anything… Actually it would just make shit worse because… ” Another movement in his throat like he was gagging.  _ What in the world could be going through this boy’s mind?  _ I couldn’t help but wonder to myself. “Just… Let me keep it to myself, Ian. Please? I ain’t… ashamed of you or anything like that… It don’t even bother me that I am… whatever I am…”

“Gay?” I provided. Mickey stopped breathing for a second at the word, but eventually, with a distant look in his eye, he nodded.

“I won’t go beatin up anyone unless they swing first, a’right? I can promise you that,” he stated confidently.

“And your dad?” I murmured, a little worried about his answer. He sighed through his throat, a gruff sound that still communicated his weariness. He bit his lip for just a second and at last returned his gaze to mine.

“I guess… We’ll see what happens…” Mickey whispered anxiously. I pulled him into me just like I did after the first time he’d kissed me, and he went easily as always. He laid his head on my chest and scooted over so his form was curled between my legs — a full Ian cocoon wrapped around the smaller Mickey.

It never ceased to strike me straight in the chest when Mickey showed this side of himself to me — the Mickey who was vulnerable and willing  _ to be _ vulnerable because even if he hated to admit it, it did him some good to accept some of that softness. 

Once the moment lightened, though, things would always go right back to normal. Mickey would sit up straight, might even stand up and give me no choice but to back up a little bit so he didn’t trip over my knees as he stood, and he’d always say the same: “anyway… where were we, Firecrotch/Gallagher/or some playful type of insult that always made me grin.

It took a little more time than usual this time and his fear was still palpable as he raised to his feet, but as always he did make me smile with that typical bravado.

**And he didn't believe me when I said you were the one**

It only took a hand full of fights before kids started learning not to fuck with us. Mickey kept his word that he wouldn’t fight unless someone else swung first and, even though I hadn’t promised it aloud, there was an unspoken vow to never let him fight alone which I always kept. The way I saw it, this was  _ our  _ fight for people to respect us as human beings and a legitimate couple. Though Mickey was always anxious when it was time for him to go home, huffing out a lot more breaths than was really necessary and seeming to need to breathe deeper before taking off for home from my house or the bus, his dad apparently never heard anything about us… Well, not until Mickey was 15. 

With over a whole year since our first kiss, Mickey finally started to calm down about worrying if his dad would find out. But it still wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, I’ll admit. But it was good! We fought a lot, nit-picking comments the other made or just being pissy in general and taking it out on the other without realizing that was what we were doing, and that always made us fight, but it also always made us each feel like the world’s biggest dick when one of us realized that we were… well, being a dick, and we’d do everything we could to make it up to the other. I like to think that’s usual teenager stuff and we would’ve been doing it even if we weren’t together. But the couple status took the bickering to a whole new level, and I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. Sometimes I even liked the bickering. Because, usually after fighting over absolute nonsense, one would suddenly realize ‘what the fuck are we doing?’ and would smile, which would lead to more silly bickering because the other  _ wanted  _ to be mad, but realized it was futile.

I never, not for a single second in our whole time together questioned our devotion to each other, even though it was a little scary. I mean… Think about it: I met my  _ person  _ at nine fuckin’ years old! We’d become best friends and slipped into boyfriends so casually and subtly that by the time we realized what we were, neither of us could land on an “anniversary” date — an official start date, if you will.

Years and years later, we finally agreed on July 21st being our official “anniversary” date though we knew it was definitely not it.

We chose that because though we couldn’t figure out when we’d officially become “boyfriends,” we could both agree on the date of our first time.

We had sex ed together the previous semester and it was… well, weird. The general stuff about STDs was valuable... learning how to put on a condom, obviously important… But we checked out when it came to the mechanics of sex because, well, we both knew that we weren’t into vag. So… there was thirteen year old Ian Gallagher googling gay sex because our sex ed instruction was hetero-based and I wasn’t about to raise my hand to ask about anal sex to either put a target on our backs or get scolded by the teacher, or both. 

Later that same day I’d brought up the topic to Mickey. He was fourteen and a virgin, after all. Was that something that would bother him? Every day he and I heard about more and more kids that age who were having sex and it was… Well, it was starting to put pressure on me even though Mickey seemed unphased.

He promised me that no, it didn’t bother him.

“ _ I  _ may be around the age for kids to start doin’ that shit, but  _ you’re  _ not,” he’d said decidedly. I’d sniffed a little bit.

“I’m only one year younger than you, Mick.”

“Yeah. And there’s no rush.” The way he said it, it was almost like a promise and almost like he was shutting down the conversation. I refused to let the topic drop, though.

“But you want to?” I pressed. Mickey blushed ever so slightly, a shy smirk on his face.

“Yes, Ian, obviously.”

“Then…”

“No, not right now,” Mickey insisted, cutting me off. Though the rejection hurt the teeniest bit, mostly I was relieved that he was determined to not rush it. I’d kissed him, once again up in our little haven away from any judgemental or concerned eyes. As always, it did get heated, but it dissipated and we smiled after, clearly both satisfied with that line, right where we were. And that felt good.

Still, July 21st. Another year after that, Fiona signed me up for an overnight summer camp. I don’t know if she thought Mickey and I needed space or if she was hoping camp would give me some ideas about extra curriculars at school or… I don’t know. Point was, I was going to camp for a week and a half before classes started and while I was excited, I also knew I was going to miss Mick like crazy. It was the day before leaving for camp and… it just sort of happened. Even though it’s a weird thing to just “have happen,” it did. We had been totally prepared if only because of my own curiosity and irritation at the injustice of having such a straight-oriented sex ed curriculum. That year we’d bought condoms and lube (well, I’d bought, Mickey’d swiped) and stored them in the little van in the backyard, another place where we could often go to be alone, usually in the winter, though sometimes we camped out in there during the summer too. That whole year between sex ed and that night, I don’t know, it just never felt like the right time. Sure we stayed up late kissing, but clothes never came off in  _ that  _ way. Mickey was pretty damned adamant about me not rushing into anything.

He couldn’t spend the night on the night before I left for camp because of his dad — he was making him do something that night, but he never told me what it was… He always said he wanted me to be completely separate from it, but I always suspected he worried I would be angry at him for following his dad’s footsteps even though I knew he had no choice. And with me leaving at 7AM we both knew there was no way that Mickey would be by to say his goodbyes. It was okay, though. I preferred this private send-off anyway. 

In that moment, with us both feeling sad at being separated and ridiculous for being sad considering it wasn’t even going to be for a full two weeks, it just felt right as the usual kissing went beyond ‘usual.’ 

It was anything but beautiful or romantic, though, I’ll tell you that much. I was just glad we’d both done our research beforehand and kept up with the research over the past year, learning as much as we could so we could be as prepared as possible considering the lack of resources. But despite all of the fumbling, the bizarre sticky feeling, the cramped space of the van, the… well, there’s no way around it, the pain... Mickey always swore that it was one of his favorite memories of us. I called him a goddamned liar only  _ once  _ and the look on his face at the accusation was enough for me to never doubt him again.

When I got home from camp… Things were different.

Mickey had promised he would be at my house on the day I came home. I waited all that day in the living room, waited for him to come right in like he always does now, being so familiar with the house and the family that he’d long since stopped bothering to knock. But by eleven that night, I knew it was time to give it up. Lip promised that it was probably nothing: something with his dad, perhaps.

But that was exactly what scared me.

All of my fears were realized when he showed up on the roof the following day. I was sitting facing the Milkovich house, waiting to see if I could get a glimpse of that black hair against the street, but I guess he was off doing something somewhere else because out of nowhere, there he was climbing up that ladder to my right.

“Fuck!” I’d exclaimed in shock at his sudden appearance. But then, taking in  _ his  _ appearance… another “fuck” slithered between my lips in a whisp of an exhale. 

His lip was crusted in dried blood, clearly having been split open as was his eyebrow, and blue and purple swells of color bloomed across his cheek and eye.

I’d jumped to standing so quickly, I’d almost lost balance, which freaked Mickey out, reaching frantically for my arm as I momentarily teetered on the edge of the roof. He pulled us both back toward the center of the space.

“Mick-” it wasn’t even his nickname, I’d just lost breath before finishing the second syllable.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Mickey promised.

“Bullshit!” I hissed. Mickey swallowed and averted his eyes because, yes it was bullshit and he wasn’t going to insult my intelligence by insisting otherwise. “Your dad?” He looked down at his shoes and nausea crawled through my stomach.

“Why?” I breathed. He shuddered and bit his lip, shaking his head.

He didn’t have to say anything else… it was me. He didn’t blame me, but it was obviously me. He swallowed hard, probably knowing I figured it out and not knowing what to say next.

“I’m uh… I’m not gonna be comin’ over as much now… An’... And I just need you to —” his breath hitched and he winced and I wanted to look under his shirt.

“What hurts, Mick?” I asked, reaching for the hem of his shirt to look. He pivoted back, just one foot swinging behind to dodge my hand.

“ _ Everything  _ hurts. You see my face, you don’ need to see all of it.”  _ It’d just make you hate yourself,  _ his eyes finished. I gagged. I actually gagged.

“We… We need to call child services…” I gasped, working so hard to contain a sob. “Get you outta there,” I pleaded as Mickey shook his head. “Mickey, he’s going to —”

“Ian, I swear to god if you call anyone I’m never talkin’ to you again.”

All the air rushed from my lungs at the threat — no, promise. Mickey’s eyes watered at the words, but his jaw communicated that he was in fact dead serious.

“Why are you protecting him?” I demanded. Mickey shook his head as though he wasn’t even sure. We stood there in silence until the setting sun’s rays shifted to a pink-orange color, the raising shadows hiding part of the bruising, though the slices on his face couldn’t be concealed.

“I don’t need you to save me, okay?” Mickey blurted.

“Now’s not the time for your fuckin’ macho pride —”

“Maybe it is about pride, I don’t know,” Mickey rushed. “But I don’t  _ wanna _ be rescued,” he murmured emphatically. “So don’t try an’ save me.”

Tears glided down my cheeks and I lost my breath again as though a hole had been punched straight through my chest.

“So… that’s it? We’re over?” I gaped. Mickey shook his head no.

“No, we’re not over,” he promised. Ian’s brows furrowed in confusion. Mickey huffed a sad yet frustrated little sigh. “Just… I can’t come over like I did. And… And I’ve gotta keep my head down ‘round dad,” Mickey stumbled with his words.

“So… never see you again? Time coordinate bathroom passes so we can have private meetings in the bathroom, sneak away during lunch to have some private time?” I snorted. Mickey shook his head no.

“I’ve…” He breathed out harshly. “I’ll have stuff to do at school. Stuff you don’t wanna see,” Mickey murmured. My shoulders collapsed along with that hole in my chest broadening to the size of a geyser.

“Mick..” 

“It’s a family thing, Ian. You wouldn’t get it.”

“No! I don’t get it!” I shouted. Mickey hushed me and I glared at him. “If you’d just let me call CPS —- ”

“You and your family do what you can to take care of yourselves, right? Scammin’, stealin’, working a million jobs just to make ends meet for your pretty li’l tax forms?” Mickey returned. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“This is just how we do it. A’right? I was selfish thinkin’ I could do it different from the rest of m’family.”

“Selfish…” I breathed with derision. I was gearing up to try once again pleading with him to hear me out but the set of is jaw told me all I needed to know.

“So you’re just going to be a Terry lackey for the rest of your life?” Mickey rolled his eyes.

“No — ”

“Yeah, of course not. He’ll make you marry a pretty girl who can pop out a million boys so you can teach ‘em the family business too. Face it, Mickey, he wants you to be a Terry clone!” Mickey glanced away and a rush of cold washed over my skin. He knew this. He saw it. And he didn’t care.

No, he cared. He felt helpless to stop it and was done fighting it.

“I won’t do that shit,” he promised me. I shook my head.

“If you keep cowing over to him… you will,” I replied with even more confidence.


End file.
